Inundation
by Gumnut
Summary: He told him he could do it, but when he couldn't it was up to his partner to do it for him. INCOMPLETE
1. Chapter 1

Inundation  
By Gumnut  
15-18 Nov 2004

"Damnit, Kitt, you said you could do it!"

"I did, Michael, and you are safe."

"But…" The hand he used to wipe the water from his eyes was just as wet as the rest of him and did little to solve the problem. "God, Kitt, you're slipping!" He grabbed at the smooth shell of his partner as the Trans Am slowly started to slide backwards down the bank. The roar of the water below drowned out the throb of Kitt's turbines as he struggled in the mud, even denying him the satisfaction of spinning up a spray of agitated foam in protest, the surging river snatching it away from him before it could form.

Michael's hands slipped across the MBS, his fingernails scratching across the desperately flickering scanner. His feet tangled in the useless remains of Kitt's forward grappling hook, the lone tree it was still snagged to, nothing more than flood flotsam now.

"Try your boosters again!"

"Michael, let me go."

"NO! Damnit, Kitt, don't you dare give up on me!"

"I will survive, Michael."

His fingers reached under the car's prow and hooked into the chassis support and pulled. "Can you guarantee me that!" Rain ran into his eyes, his feet slipping in the mud.

His question was ignored. "Michael, please, don't make this all for nothing."

Michael's heart froze and, for a moment, words failed him. Then, "You knew!"

"Michael-" The Trans Am slipped further, and it was only the sudden spat and gurgle of failing boosters that prevented his name from being the last word ever uttered by the AI.

Michael dug his heels in, eyes casting around for the umpteenth time for something, anything, he could anchor his life too. Clinging to the sliding car was futile in the extreme, but he had to do something. The bank of the swollen river was as barren as the desert it flowed through, the little foliage Kitt's flickering headlamps lit up in the dim light, sparse and sodden with rain.

"Why, Kitt!"

"Michael, please get yourself to safety, I don't know how long I can maintain this position."

"Damnit, Kitt, why!"

The AI's tone was level, calm, in direct contrast to their current situation. "It is my purpose, Michael, you know that."

His purpose. Michael did know that, but in the six months since he'd heard Devon speak those words, it had never really – really – occurred to him exactly what that meant.

"Please, Michael, leave."

"No."

"Michael-"

"There has to be something."

"Michael-"

"I'm not leaving you!" Clinging to the vibrating body of the Trans Am, he made his way around to the driver's side sunroof he had so recently escaped from.

"Damnit, Michael!" The roof refused to open. "Get out of here!"

"Kitt-"

"No!" Kitt's turbo boosters continued to spit mud in defiance. "Michael, please there is no other way." The car's back end caught in the surge, and its black body began to slowly shift sideways. Kitt planted one rear wheel in the mud and spun the other in a futile attempt to right himself. "Michael, go, please!"

"There is always another way!" He glared at the dashboard display through the mud-splattered window, hoping to God that this was not the last time he would see that flickering red light.

Red light.

Dashboard.

Kitt was an AI, a computer; a personality that defied stereotype, but a computer nonetheless.

"Kitt, can I separate you from the car?"

The Trans Am shifted again, this time Michael had to stumble out of the way or be swept into the water. He grabbed at a fender as the vehicle turned, sideswiped by a decapitated tree the current had already stolen. Kitt's wheels spun as the wood clattered against his shell, the AI inside giving a terrified yelp that betrayed any façade of stoicism he had previously displayed.

Fate was obviously with them as the log slipped away, the Trans Am stabilising once again under the roar of engine and battered booster.

He repeated the question. "Kitt, can I separate you from the car?"

Kitt didn't answer.

"Kitt!"

The hood of the Trans Am unlocked with a click.

It was only then Michael realised what he was asking of himself. He knew where Kitt was, Bonnie had pointed out the CPU to him on initial orientation, and he had seen her working on his partner dozens of times, but he only knew the basics.

And there was no time to think.

"Kitt, tell me what to do."

The hood rose just enough to allow him access and let in as little rain as possible, the odd splash of water hissing into steam as it made contact with the hot surface of the gunning engine.

"Michael, I appreciate what you are trying to do, but please don't risk yourself."

"It is my choice, Kitt, now tell me what to do."

The MBS coated CPU was snuggled in a shock-absorbing, insulated casing to the rear of the engine compartment. To reach it, Michael had to lean over the angrily revving motor, the Trans Am's turbine hiss almost painful to his ears. The car trembled under him as the AI fought for purchase, and when Kitt tried yet again to get him to leave, Michael cracked.

"Kitt, shut the hell up and do as I tell you!"

Rain drummed on the MBS.

"Very well."

The AI gave him curt, crisp directions, once again calm in the face of the storm, but every now and again a tremble would waver through the electronic voice of his partner. Kitt was scared.

And Michael knew how he felt.

He worked as fast as he could, burning his hands several times in his haste. Kitt withdrew himself from his various functions and Michael disconnected the necessary connections until only control of the driving mechanisms and his voice were left. It took them less than a minute, but to Michael it seemed like hours.

"Kitt, you ready?" He lifted the CPU casing out from its hiding place, gently moving cords to free it.

"Michael…" The AI trailed off as if unable to say what he needed to say.

"Kitt-" Something slammed into the back of the car, swiping it sideways. Michael stumbled, his grip on the CPU his highest priority and unable to catch himself, he fell sideways, his face hitting the engine block as the car moved. There was the sizzle of burning skin, a yelp from Kitt that was cut off abruptly, and suddenly the engine idled down to nothing.

The Trans Am fell.

Michael found the CPU casing loose in his hands, and drawing it close to his chest, he rolled himself off the hot motor as it moved beneath him, onto the muddy bank, just as the flotsam-choked current finally had its way with the car, its sleek black form wrenched into the water, swallowed, and tossed downstream.

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For a short while, Michael simply lay there in the mud and the rain, his arms hugging the heavy casing to his chest, his face half buried in the churned up mush as the cold sapped the heat from the burns on his face and arm.

"Kitt?"

There was no answer.

He looked down at the silent black box, mud smudged the casing, and rain dripped idly where Michael was unable to cover it. There was no answer because Kitt no longer had access to voice output.

For the first time in his life, Michael held his friend in his arms.

And it terrified him.

Bared wire stuck out of the end of torn cords where the car had been forcibly ripped from the AI's grasp and as water came in contact with the metal it fizzled and spat. He had to get Kitt out of the rain.

Hunching over, he gently placed the AI inside his jacket, grabbing the stray wires and knotting them to prevent both cross circuiting Kitt and electrocuting himself. He zipped the jacket closed, and staggered up the bank, finally freeing himself from the roar of the river.

Mud dripped from his clothes as he made it over the top of the embankment…and came face to face with Jerry Symons and his pet gun.

"Lost something, Knight?"

Somehow the steel shoved up his nose was colder than the rain.

At least Michael had some small satisfaction in seeing Jerry getting his coiffure a little wet. The usually immaculately dressed businessman was coated in just about as much mud and water as Michael was, his white suit no longer even related to the colour.

"You don't look too good, Jerry." His voice was harsh, even to his own ears.

"Mind the smart ass remarks, kid, they're shortening your life." The hawk grey eyes of the man who had chased him to this pathetic scene were still as confident as they had always been, despite the dirt Michael had managed to drag him through over the last few days. The man may have been wet and soggy, but he still had his arrogant attitude.

Then again some people were just a little on the thick side.

"Haven't given up yet, eh, Jerry?"

The clout across his head not only knocked his eyeballs together, but also grabbed the welts on his face and tore skin. Crap. Maybe the man had a point.

"No more than you've learnt, Knight." The gun gestured towards the river. "Move, pretty boy, you have an appointment."

It was at this point that Michael, under different circumstances, may have been tempted to wipe that smarmy look of his opponent's face, quickly followed by wiping the floor with that same piece of anatomy, but at the moment he had one far more important concern. And it was hidden in his jacket.

So he turned and, buying a little time, started to stumble down the bank the way he had come.

Jerry Symons was your average worst nightmare; a man with a lot of money, a lot of connections, and a sick sense of right and wrong. He sold everything from drugs to women, and since his latest business acquisition, Michael had been hunting him - with a scalping in mind.

The Foundation had been tracking him for years, but he was a cunning and soulless bastard and had managed to slip through the leaky sieve of justice time and time again. Michael was determined to take him down. Devon had not held back on the details of the man's dealings and the photographs….

The scum wasn't worth the mud he was standing on.

But unlike many of the 'businessmen' Michael had had to deal with, Symons was a hands-on man. His henchmen were few and far between, and his skills far above par both in the physical sense and in intellect. He hadn't survived so long doing what he did without the use of brainpower.

"Shame about your car, Knight."

Michael refused to rise to the bait. The man didn't know the half of it, and if Michael had his way, he never would.

"Now I guess you're going to try and tell me that the evidence you so conveniently claimed to have was destroyed with the car."

He let the rain and stiffening wind fill in the silence in lieu of a reply.

The 'evidence', unbeknownst to Symons, was held by Kitt, and, no, it wasn't with the car. It was currently stuffed in his jacket along with the life of his partner. Unfortunately the weather had interfered with Kitt's automatic update with the Foundation, and the information had yet to reach safe hands. Usually it wouldn't have been a problem, but this time, it was the crux.

"Either way, Knight, you're finished."

"I haven't even started."

"Hah! You are confident, m'boy." The gun, now pointed at his back, found a painful rib and jabbed. "Now move, I have no wish to drag your body any further than I have to."

The river's roar swallowed his ears as once again he stood staring into its depths, his thoughts with the AI snuggled up against his chest, the warmth of the CPU taking the chill out of his bones. If he ended up in the water…

He closed his eyes for a moment, clutching a hand to the hidden case beneath his jacket.

The choices were few.

But they had to be made.

The gun cocked a bullet.

Michael spun, letting the mud beneath his feet lubricate the turn and the rain mask the sound. His arm came down on Symons' weapon, bearing it to the ground, as he followed through with his weight, shoving the man after it.

They hit the mud together, Symons' yelling into the rain, his fist connecting with Michael's kidney and decorating his ribcage with pain. They rolled, mud coating pale skin in a vague parody of war paint, the hard box shell of his partner caught between them. Michael yelled as a knee found a sensitive spot, and he grabbed at Symons' hair, tearing out scalp. "Damn you!"

His face was shoved into the mud, and for one awful moment he found himself breathing churned slime. Fingers fumbled at his jacket. God! He twisted, curling to protect the vulnerable form of his partner….and a hand wrapped around his throat.

No, you don't, you asshole!

His fist found the other man's face, planting a permanent dent in his features. Blood ran with the rain, and the hand around his throat loosened. Taking the moment of advantage, Michael pushed off from Symons, shoving the man away, and stumbling halfway to his feet. The gun, it had to be here….

And it was.

In Symons' hands.

Michael had one brief moment of horrific flashback as the gun glinted in the dim light, and something loud and angry impacted with his chest.

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FIN.


	2. Chapter 2

Inundation  
Part 2  
By Gumnut  
19 Nov 2004

Michael spun the steering wheel and the entire car slid sideways, the wheels loosing traction in the mud.

"Goddamnit, how did he locate us!"

"Unknown, but I'm afraid he is familiar with at least some of my capabilities as that is no small rocket launcher they have aimed at us."

"Can you avoid it?" His voice was loud to his own ears, a shout fuelled by adrenalin.

"I believe so, however, it will be close."

"Close is better than dead, buddy."

The Trans Am suddenly left his fingers as his partner took control, a spitting flare of orange to the left of the driver's side window causing a glaring set of after images to imprint on his retinas. He yanked the wheel hard to the right as a side road suddenly appeared out of the murky weather. Specialised tyre tread hit mud and slid, the rearend of the Trans Am fishtailing off the asphalt with a soggy screech.

He floored the accelerator, a spray of slush fanning out behind them. The windshield wipers swung back and forth, their beat, faster than his heart, and background music to his bouncing thoughts. How the hell had Symons traced his movements? They had been home free, bee-lining for the Foundation with enough evidence to sink the man's ship permanently, only to have him and a never before seen vehicle appear out of nowhere. A vehicle that seemed to have comparable speed capabilities to that of Kitt, and a rocket launcher as icing on the cake.

How the hell did he know as much as he obviously did?

Another explosion narrowly missed Kitt's front fender as Michael had the steering wheel once again yanked from his grasp.

"Thanks, buddy."

"Anytime, Michael."

"Can you see anything we could possibly use to end this little game of tag?" The car slid sideways in another spray of mud as the road turned abruptly.

Michael could almost feel Kitt's scanners interrogating the area.

"A river, Michael, one kilometre ahead. This road spans it via an old bridge." A pause. "The bridge will not support our weight, the watercourse is swollen in flood and the structure's supports have been damaged by flotsam."

"Can we jump it?"

"With plenty of clearance."

"Is there any way for Symons to follow us?"

"The vehicle in pursuit does not have the capability to turbo boost. They will have to cross the bridge to reach us, should we outrun their firing range. And the bridge will not support them anymore than it would support us. The nearest alternate route is twenty kilometres to the west."

"Sounds good to me. Let's do it, buddy."

The steering wheel once again left his fingers as Kitt swerved to avoid yet another orange explosion, this time to their right. Half cooked mud splattered the car windows.

"Damn, that was close. How far to the river?"

"Seven hundred metres."

Through the murk of the weather and the blur of the water soaked windshield he could just see the wooden palings of the old - no, make that 'ancient' - bridge appearing over the slight hump in the land. Spray kicked up around its supports.

So much for the desert. The weather had come out of nowhere bearing in from the direction of the Pacific several hundred kilometres off into the west, and had dumped half of that ocean onto the dry land. Parched soil that had lost the capability to absorb any water, quickly shed the majority of it into the equally dry river systems. Unable to cope, they flooded.

In short, there was water, a whole lot of it.

And it was approaching fast.

Kitt had control, visibility far too poor for Michael to calculate the jump manually, and he swerved one more time before taking to the sky to leap over the river. Michael was pushed back into the seat, his stomach riding with him as the river passed beneath them.

They landed with a thud and a spray of water logged earth. The Trans Am slid for a moment, and Michael gripped the wheel despite his confidence in Kitt's abilities.

"Kitt-"

"A moment, Michael."

There was the thud of Kitt's boosters firing in reverse and the car came to an abrupt halt.

Rain pelted on the Trans Am's shell.

"Thanks, Kitt."

"You're welcome."

"Our friends?" Michael stretched around to look out the back window, but had little success, there being more mud on the glass than not.

"Approaching the bridge."

"We outside their range?"

"Of course." One of the two video monitors sprung to life, a semi-clear distance shot of the bridge. The red vehicle was speeding towards the rickety span.

"They can't be that st-" Michael blinked. The moment the front wheels of the car hit the wood it began to buckle. "Damnit!" The vehicle had far too much momentum to stop, its weight bending and snapping the structure beneath it. "Kitt, prep your grappling hook, looks like we're going fishing."

Michael slapped the car into reverse and pinning the handbrake, spun the car in a one-eighty that more resembled a one-ninety as the tyres slid in the rain once again. Damn he wished it would stop raining.

Returning to the bridge, they were just in time to see it finally cave in, wood hitting water, its snap stolen by the roar of the river.

"Kitt, how many people?"

"Symons and one other person. Michael, I would not advise approaching on foot, these people are still fully armed."

"Yeah, but they are about to get a life or death lesson in water safety. Can your grappling hook reach?"

"Barely."

"Okay, edge as close as you can."

Kitt complied, and the Trans Am shifted forward, setting itself at an angle closest to where the fallen car was now entangled in the remains of the bridge. Water swelled up against the obstruction, determined to push it downstream despite its tenacious hold. A figure was struggling out of an open window.

"Can you catch them?"

"I - Michael!"

Something flashed brightly, paling out the world around it, moments before the world destabilised and blew up in a spray of orange-lit mud. "Shit! Kitt!" The Trans Am shifted sideways as the ground beneath it began to crumble into the river, the bank destroyed by the rocket fired from the tangled wreck below.

"Hang on!" The displays on the dashboard flashed dizzily to the sound of screeching wet tyres scrambling for purchase and the howl of overtaxed boosters.

"Kitt!'

The Trans Am once again left the wet earth for the wet air above the river.

"Brace for impact."

"Kitt!'

And then, what went up came down.

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FIN.


End file.
